


Twenty-Six Minutes

by haking17



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, M/M, one_shot; fluff; implied male relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haking17/pseuds/haking17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only took twenty-six minutes for them to see what had been there all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Six Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to the Sherlock fandom (as well as this site) but have fallen so deeply in love with it. This little drabble is based on a scene that just would not leave my head. I'm from America so my British language abilities are based on what I read and hear. I intend to get better at it, though.
> 
> I don't own any of the characters. I just like playing with them. And, that innuendo may be taken however you please.
> 
> Enjoy~! :)
> 
> P.S. This has also been posted on my LiveJournal account (under aussiegirl17) and on my DeviantArt account (under haking17).

**Twenty-Six Minutes**

**By:  haking17**

 

"Bloody hell," John hissed, wincing as Sherlock's scarf was tightened over his upper arm.

"Looks like it went straight through."

"Well, there's a plus." John braced against the wall of the alley, hissing again as he shifted on the pebbled road.

"Stop moving.  It'll take twenty-four minutes for the paramedics to arrive; twenty if the twits take Kosher instead of Hyde."

"Did you get the parcel?" John asked in attempts to forget about the scorching pain in his arm.

At the insuring silence, he looked over at Sherlock.  The man was still knelt beside him, fussing over the make-shirt tourniquet.

"Sherlock?"

"No."

"Damn it," John hissed again, this time in aggravation.  "I told you to go after him.  It took you weeks to track him down."

"Eight days is not 'weeks', John."

"Don't quibble over schematics; you know what I mean."

"I'll find him again.  In fact, it'll be much easier this time.  He's running like a scared rabbit and will no doubt quickly expose himself.  You're sweating."

Sherlock pressed two fingers against the side of John's neck.

"Pulse racing; clammy skin.  You're going into shock."

"I'm quite aware of the symptoms," John muttered, closing his eyes and focusing on steadying his breathing.  "They must have taken Hyde."

"Idiots," Sherlock cursed, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over John.  "Open your eyes, John; you must stay awake."

"I _am_ awake," John obliged, glaring at Sherlock.  "It's not easy to sleep when a bloody bullet tears through your arm."

"Why did you push me out of the way?  I was perfectly safe at that distance."

"Like hell you were.  I happen to know a thing or two about marksmanship.  With your height, he'd have gotten a good shot at your neck.  Then it wouldn't matter how quickly the paramedics arrived because you'd have bled out."

"It was a futile risk."

"My choice."

"A _stupid_ choice."

"It's not the first time I've been shot, Sherlock."

"It is for _me_."

The fierceness of his tone garnered John's attention.  There was an intensity in Sherlock's eyes that was usually reserved when working through a case.  It was more than a bit unnerving for John to have that focus thrust upon him.  Much went unspoken between the two men, shared realization dawning.  The wails of approaching sirens broke the mood.

"Twenty-four minutes?" John asked.

"Twenty-six."  A small grin plucked at Sherlock's face.

"We're not done discussing this, Sherlock."

"Of course not," Sherlock stood; "but talking is not going to be the end of it."

He winked at John before turning towards the hapless men striding from the ambulance.

"How nice of you to join us, gentlemen; so sorry to disturb your day with my colleague's petty gunshot wound."

**The End**


End file.
